Red, Writing, and Hoods
by The Mulberry
Summary: Fionna, the atypical girl next door, is forced to tutor the unmotivated, uncooperative Marshall Lee when she gets in trouble at school. Although she feels like murder whenever she sees him, it's obvious he's in trouble with some sort of extralegal operation. A hero like Fionna never abandons someone in trouble, whether they want her to get lost or not.


**Double Date From Hell is likely on a hiatus for awhile, but while I'm stuck on that story I've been thinking of this for months now. I'm confident enough to say that I'll hopefully be able to upload a chapter a week. This entire story is planned out, so it should be easier for me to write. I hope you like it!**

 **I own adventure time (just kidding just kidding don't arrest me I don't own it)**

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Fionna could usually handle herself in stressful situations. She was a mellow gal, and the everyday stressors such as bad hair, work, money, cute boys, homework, and Cake's constant nagging never caused her cool to be lost. It's math, she'd tell herself assuredly. Everything's math- once every so often your hair will grow a bit rebellious, count what money you have and be thankful for it, at least a few boys have gotta think you're cute, and Cake will ninety percent of the time be annoying. Life is just a big game of math.

She tried to tell herself this as she struggled with her left converse- tried to keep her well regarded cool. However she made the mistake of glancing over at the clock above the front door, again, and a panicked yelp escaped her throat.

 _Ten minutes,_ she thinks. _I've got ten minutes until school starts._

"CAKE!" Fionna screamed, golden locks soaring about her head like an overgrown mane as she ran around the room frantically. "WHERE IS MY HOODIE!?"

Her sister, never one to be bothered before ten in the morning, yelled something about "misplaced underwear in the kitchen" from her bedroom, however Fionna did not have the time to decipher her sister's dreamy rambling.

Thankfully she spotted a bunny ear poking out from under the couch and wasted no time in snatching up the hoodie and pulling it over her head.

"I'M LEAVING CAKE BYE!" Fionna slammed the door shut behind her as hard and loud as she possibly could. She only ever said goodbye to her sister in the morning when she knew it would really annoy her. Cake had gotten home around three in the morning, and although Fionna sometimes found it funny when Cake would stumble into her room in a drunken stupor to wake her up and tell her how beautiful she was, this particular morning she wanted a bit of revenge.

Fionna had been late to school a few times, like most kids, and she normally wouldn't go out of her way to get there on time if it didn't seem possible. However, her Social Sciences teacher had decided to give the students a very huge mid-quarter-semi-final exam a few weeks into the school year (which Fionna still had a hard time wrapping her head around), and it was worth a huge portion of the first report card grade. Social Sciences was her first class of the day. She'd already missed Homeroom, but first period started at eight o' clock, on the dot.

"If you're late for class," Fionna recalled her teacher sniffing through his ego. "You're late for learning. And if you are late for learning..."

"You won't learn." She muttered miserably. If you were late for his class, you weren't allowed in.

 _Junior year is the most important year._ _Everything counts._

Flying down the four flights of stairs with speed and grace, Fionna was able to make record time and bounded out of her apartment building without running into a single one of her neighbors. She did notice Mr. Lemongrab poke his large nose into the hall when she sped past his apartment door, and ignored it when she heard one of his obnoxious squeals of disapproval chase her outside.

The neighborhood wasn't quiet, as usual. Fionna didn't live in a rough part of the city, but it was unarguably one of the loudest. A subway station was located in the center of the street, so people were constantly streaming through the area as they chugged on through the day to work, home, or wherever else they did or didn't want to be. By _7:55_ there was already a small car accident clogging up the road, with a policeman doing his best to prevent two men from getting into a fight over a broken bumper and smashed front headlight. Fionna recognized one of the men as the cable guy who lived on her apartment floor, and her heart went out to him- he dated Cake for a while, and was a pretty nice dude.

A few restaurants were already gearing up for a busy autumn day, and the club that would keep Fionna up half the night, most nights, was still spitting out some late night/early morning partiers who hadn't found their way home yet. The grocery store wasn't exactly full of people, but a few definitely glanced her way from inside the windows as Fionna sprinted past the building. None seemed surprised.

The bar next to Fionna's building was open (Cake's current area of employment- she seemed to like it) and Fionna snorted when she saw Beemo at his newsstand trying to sell a couple of young kids a pair of his "homemade handheld video game consoles". He was a cool guy, but he had the tendency to scam the local kids or ignorant tourists out of a few bucks now and then. Fionna passed "The Candy Kingdom", the candy shop she worked at part time, and her stomach flipped a little when she glanced in and saw Gumball starting up the bakery oven.

 _Oh my glob his butt is so cute..._

Fionna ran past all this, greeting familiar faces and the friendly people she passed every day on her way to school.

"Hey, Fionna." A middle schooler yelled at her from across the road. The younger kids on her block had a lot of respect for Fionna, as she would regularly protect them from the local bullies who'd try to follow them home or intimidate their candy money from them. No one messed with Fionna, and everyone under the age of sixteen who went to her school or within a four block radius knew it.

"Fionna!" Beemo tried to get her attention, but she only allowed him a quick wave as she ran by. She simply didn't have the time for his antics.

"Hello, Miss Human." Some old lady gobbled as she flew by. Fionna loved old people.

"Yo, Fifi, how ya doin' baby?" Fionna wasn't sure who said this, but they said it every morning from an apartment window so she yelled back her own hello.

"'Sup, Fionna."

"Good morning, Fionna."

"Hi, Miss Fionna Human."

She may have done it at a high-speed pace, and it's likely she screamed her morning greeting in a few faces, but she was never the person to pass up an opportunity to be friendly.

 _Five minutes,_ she thought as she checked her watch. She calculated how fast she'd actually need to go in order to make her first class. The school was only a few blocks down from Treehouse Street, but even so Fionna knew she'd need to sprint in order to get there.

"I CAN DO IT!" She roared as she accelerated through pedestrian traffic. It was a battle, a battle against time. She'd win. She just needed to beat five minutes, that's it, five measly minutes.

 _Five minutes until I'm royally screwed up the-_

Her mathematical calculations were interrupted when a boy on a skateboard ran her over.

* * *

Marshall Lee didn't ask for much.

Peace and quiet when he slept, for one thing. His sleeping hours usually occurred in the day more than they did at night, but either way he needed darkness and silence so he could rest easy. That wasn't much.

He needed time with his music. Everyday. Just a few hours- either an all out jam session with the band, or an easy-going solo time starring just him and his beautiful bass. That wasn't much.

Chill people, cool people, whatever- were the only kind he wanted to hang with (although he usually didn't get this wish). Only people he respected, and that wasn't many. Marshall was a complete and total player, a smooth dude in every sense of the word, however that didn't mean he wanted to spend more time than was "physically necessary" (a term one of his buds used) with the bimbo chicks that would follow him and his crew around. That wasn't much.

His angsty good looks and questionable reputation were enough to intimidate most people on the street into a far enough distance to at least give him some breathing room. Those that actually recognized him from his band, "The Shriekers" (a little flicker of recognition in the eye, a hesitant opening of the mouth, perhaps a slight fault in step) would usually opt out of approaching him. This wasn't many people (not yet, anyways). Marshall noticed the occasional attention he'd receive (from guys and girls alike), the whispers, winks, and the shoulder nudges, but it was usually at a distance. People never got up in his face or anything like that- he was the kind of guy you idolize from afar out of a mixture of fear, respect, and desire.

Therefore, the final thing Marshall Lee asked for- no, the final thing he _expected,_ was that when he walked or skated down the sidewalk, people would part like the red freaking sea and get out of his way. Now that _really_ was not much. He could be a pretty easy going dude when he wanted to be, but not when people pissed him off.

The blonde chick that caused him to crash _really_ pissed him off.

Both of them were headed in the same direction, so Marshall was probably capable of understanding why she didn't see him sweeping up the edge of the sidewalk, however he was in too much of a foul mood to begin with to consider being polite. She ran right out in front of him, and with the attention span of a butterfly. The sidewalk wasn't even that crowded.

Marshall shouted, but there was no time. He hit her like a renegade freight train, and felt like one as his board hit the girl's sneakers, flipped under his feet, and derailed him onto her back. The two of them hit the hard cement, Marshall on top of dumb blonde, and a sickening crunch sounded between the two of them. At first he thought he'd broken her back when he landed on top of her, but then he realized it was something much, much worse.

His bass, strapped to his back as it was, the thing which he treasured most, was a heavy piece of equipment, and twisted around him when he fell. It actually landed between Marshall and the girl, and when Marshall sat up his worst fears were confirmed.

The neck had snapped.

Marshall Lee's first instinct was to punch the damn stupid little girl in the back of the head- to take the broken instrument and impale her with it. A wise split second decision had him getting off of her, numbly, instead.

He was about to scream in her face what the hell was she thinking, when she flipped onto her back and pointed up at him.

"That was really uncool, man." She panted.

Marshall could not believe his ears. "Are you kidding me? _You_ ran in front of _me._ " He thrust his broken guitar toward her. "Look at my frigging bass! You _broke_ it!"

"You, like, came up from behind me!" She shoved herself off the ground athletically and stood straight in front of him with a confidence Marshall did not like. She had on a white sweatshirt with the hood pulled over her head. Two small bunny ears flopped around the top of the hood, and it took every ounce of Marshall's willpower not to reach over and rip them off her head. Her knees were scraped from the fall, and a blue skirt hung a few inches above them. She was definitely a year or two younger than him, and for some reason the lack of intimidation in her steady gaze angered him just as much as the broken guitar. He glowered.

"Listen, dude." The girl glanced anxiously up the street, and glanced at her watch. "I don't really have time for this. Really sorry about the guitar, just, like, be more careful next time." She turned to likely run down the street again, but Marshall wasn't about to let someone get away with breaking his bass. Also, she seemed to be in a hurry, and Marshall could just barely taste the sweet, filling flavor of revenge growing with each second she wasted standing with him.

He grabbed her backpack.

"Listen, babe," Marshall smirked coyly, "I'll forgive you for running in front of me, and maybe I'll even give you a kiss, if you just admit it was totally your fault."

Okay, although he was pretty infuriated, Marshall felt a strong urge to throw back his head and laugh at the expression of total shock that passed over the girl's face. It was absolutely priceless.

Her panicked eyes met his as she turned her head to face him. "Wha... what?" She twisted a little in his grasp, as if to confirm he'd actually grabbed her bag.

Marshall pulled her closer to him. She grew completely rigid as he leaned in and whispered in her ear: "Say you're sorry, huh? It's only fair." Strands of blonde hair had made their way out from beneath the hood, and they tumbled down near her waist. Her eyes, a bright blue, grew wide and unsure. Marshall found this wickedly entertaining, and reached in to touch a strand of her hair.

"I have to go!" She yelled, yanking her backpack with surprising strength. She tried to run, but Marshall tore her back to him with a cruel laugh. "Let go of me! I'm gonna be late for school!"

"And _I'm_ gonna need to get my bass repaired!"

A few pedestrians turned their heads at the scene unfolding between the teens on the sidewalk, but Marshall knew that it would be a few minutes before anyone would attempt to intervene. School, she'd said. School started at eight, and if he was reading that watch correctly...

"Babe, you're already gonna be late."

"Not if you _let go!"_ She screeched in rage. "Pl _eeaase,_ I'm _begging_ you-"

"Admit it was your fault!"

"No! _You_ hit _me!_ "

"Then I guess you'll be late." He said simply.

With agility and speed Marshall could never have guessed she possessed, the girl slid her arms from her backpack and freed herself from the bag. She whipped herself around, crouched to a fighting stance, and, with a determined glint in her eyes, roundhouse kicked Marshall in the stomach.

He immediately dropped the bag to the sidewalk and doubled over in pain. "You little...!" He wheezed.

The girl gathered her bag and gave Marshall a sarcastic salute. "Screw you man, but I really am sorry about your bass." She began running away from him, Marshall assumed towards her school. "If you ever floppin' touch me again, I'll kick your pale butt!" The odd part was that she almost sounded friendly.

All he could manage before she was out of sight and earshot: "It's eight o' five, moron!" He hoped that she'd heard him. It didn't matter, either way.

He'd see her in school. It was his first day.

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